


Locus amoenus

by Lils_White



Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien, The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Aman (Tolkien), Gen, Immortal Frodo Baggins, Implied Gimli/Legolas Greenleaf, M/M, Mentioned Arwen, Mentioned Bilbo Baggins, Mentioned Elrond - Freeform, Mentioned Galadriel, Mentioned Gandalf, POV Sauron, Sauron is So Done, Undying Lands, Valinor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-05
Updated: 2020-10-05
Packaged: 2021-03-08 04:02:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,077
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26845570
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lils_White/pseuds/Lils_White
Summary: Long after the destruction of the ring, Frodo Baggins remains an annoying thorn in his side.
Relationships: Frodo Baggins/Sauron | Mairon
Comments: 4
Kudos: 69





	Locus amoenus

**Author's Note:**

> Tolkien in his letters, _repeatedly _: Frodo and Bilbo travel to the Undying Lands after the destruction of the ring but they don't become immortal, and die eventually as any mortal. The Undying Lands don't grant immortality.__
> 
> __Me: IMAGINE AN IMMORTAL FRODO._ _

**Locus amoenus**

_«What's won is won._

_But it can always be undone»._

Undone, Tommee Profitt ft. Fleurie

At first, there was nothing. Then everything came.

Mairon doesn’t remember the beginning, because he wasn’t there. But he does remember what came next. He remembers the songs that shaped the universe and the intertwined harmony that made up the silhouette of the clouds and the brightness of the stars. He remembers peace and remembers the feeling of  _ belonging, _ of  _ being, _ of  _ serving. _

He remembers the rhythm that got out of tune and was rejected and branded as a threat. He remembers how he willingly followed him, mesmerized by his sinuous notes and seductive whispers.

He remembers pain, fire and loss.

And he remembers being Sauron, the dark lord of Mordor.

After all, the fleeting nostalgia found in his memories is all he has left.

"…I'm just saying that according to Gandalf, Bilbo had the ring in Mirkwood. That's very close to Dol Guldur, you could have got it back there. And I passed by the Witch-king when I was carrying it, and you didn't notice! Apparently I crossed all of Mordor without you even blinking. Haha, blink, you know? Because of the Eye. What I'm trying to say is that you came very close to regaining your power on several occasions but you didn't even notice, which makes me think it was a serious strategy failure on your part and… Hey, where are you going?"

He is left with nostalgia and a halfling who has decided to follow him around to rub off his victory.

After the destruction of the ring, Mairon was reduced to a mere reminiscence of his former existence. A breath of energy that existed through wind and pain, and held onto reality with sheer anger. With the passing of the ages and much, much effort, Mairon managed to recover slightly, until he was something more than a whisper crying out for justice.

He continued to exist as little more than a shadow between worlds, but at least he could project its image before the eyes of mortals and immortals and could communicate with them. Knowing that it would still take many ages to regain a glimmer of his true power, Mairon did the only sensible thing in his situation.

He sought out the halfling who had destroyed him for revenge. He would seduce and drag the little hobbit to his side and then, when the naive creature loved him so much he wished to open his chest and give him a still beating heart, Mairon would crush him.

"Are you angry?" Asks the halfling in question, stepping up to match his great strides. "I just wanted to study your strategy so you could reflect on why you were defeated by two tired hobbits, you don't have to take it so seriously."

His plan for revenge didn't work out as well as he might have hoped.

The life in the Undying Lands (situated on the hidden continent of Aman) had changed the pathetic, trembling little man Mairon met through his ring, and whom he hates more than he has ever hated any mortal. The stay in Valinor had transformed his enemy into a calm and poised person, with a malicious gleam in his pretty eyes that was unusual for someone of his race.

The first time, Mairon appeared to him in a dream. The hobbit was having a nightmare about being unable to knit a hat no matter how hard he tried; instead he always ended up with a sock in his hands. The dream was filled with frustration and dark colors reflecting the poor mood of his dreamer, and Mairon sneered: such a pathetic nightmare was only proper for a miserable creature.

He allowed his presence to spread through the hobbit's subconscious.  _ I'll give you a reason to be terrified _ , thought Mairon, eyeing the tenth sock accidentally knitted by the halfling.

He planned to scare him before starting the seduction. Remind him who was the almighty being and who was the little rat that meddled where he had no business. Oh, it was going to be so much fun.

However, instead of being terrified and begging for mercy, the young man smiled from ear to ear at his sight.

"It is you, isn't it? Sauron!" The piled-up socks disappeared and the dream world exploded in brilliant colors at the hobbit's disconcerting joy. "They said you would come back one day but I wasn't sure it was true! It's been so long I almost forgot about you too!" The colors around them relaxed and turned blue with relief. "It was about time, everything is very boring around here!"

Thus, his plan of revenge was crushed again by the ever-present thorn in his side. The fool had no fear of him (which, with perspective and reluctance, Mairon can admit makes some sense since he’s still so weak he can’t do anything to him) and wasn’t interested in his seductions or manipulations.

No, what the hobbit wanted was  _ to be his friend _ . Since then he has pursued him to tell him stories that do not interest him and spend time with him.

(Sometimes Mairon takes refuge in the mountains to grumble, reminisce about Mordor, and wonder if this is another punishment from Ilúvatar. He can almost feel Melian's petulance like a physical presence suffocating him).

"The others don't like me talking to you, you know. They would have thrown you out if it wasn't for me," the halfling continues, still walking at his side, looking at him with his huge, wide eyes. He has extraordinarily long eyelashes, Mairon hates them. "You could be a little more appreciative and respond when I speak to you. I'm sacrificing my time and friends to give you conversation."

Mairon is tempted to reply that the only sacrifice interesting to him is one that ends with his mediocre blood decorating the land, but he holds back. He knows from experience that any answer he gives will be considered a victory by the little being, and hasn’t he achieved enough victories at his expense?

The hobbit sighs dramatically at his silence, as if he were the one tortured and not the other way around.

"I was with Gimli and Legolas the other day," he confides, leaping to avoid a particularly large root. The Gardens of Lórien open up before them, wide and colored with a green so intense it almost hurts the eyes. Mairon, who has something like a body again (though as weak as melted butter), appreciates the smell of earth and the birds’ singing. "It turns out they used to be my friends and helped in your defeat, but I don't remember either of them. They seem nice. I invited them over for tea and we had a good afternoon, although Gimli's manners leave much to be desired."

Mairon risks a glance at the halfling out of the corner of his eye, who thankfully doesn't look in his direction for once and gazes at the ground with a slight frown.

There’s a reason the continent of Aman is reserved for elves and not mortals. Olórin was too naive to see it, or perhaps he saw it but didn’t care at the time (after all, he doesn’t seem too preoccupied about the mortals in his charge). But Mairon realized what was happening from the beginning.

In the Undying Lands you cannot die. And mortals, by definition, are created to die. What happens when you drag a mortal into the immortal realm? Nothing good. It doesn’t matter if they were Ring-bearers, they’re still mortals and the nature of a creature cannot be changed with a magical relic and a couple of near-afterlife experiences.

In Valinor mortals do not die and, consequently, their bodies created to die develop problems keeping up. Elves have no issue living centuries and then remembering all of their experiences with total clarity, because that is their purpose. But mortals forget, because the natural law prepares them to close their eyes at some point, not to breathe forever.

After many ages in the land of the immortals, the halfling had begun to forget his life. His early years, his mortal friends, his existence before he reached the Undying Lands. In the end, the only memory of Middle-earth he had was that of Sauron himself; the enemy who almost destroyed his soul and killed him.

There is a certain satisfaction in knowing that, although he lost, he managed to affect so much the mind of his foe that the memory of him is the only knowledge he maintains of his life as a mortal.

"Do you remember the commotion with the arrival of Gimli?" Says the hobbit, more serious than he usually is in his presence. "Apparently he wasn’t allowed to be here and Legolas smuggled him in; Elrond almost had a fit, I've never seen him lose his temper like that." He chuckles, with that malicious spark that emerged in recent decades creating a dimple in his cheek. "It seemed very romantic to me, though, and Galadriel agreed so they let him stay."

Mairon contains a grimace, as he does every time he hears that cursed name. His days in Valinor consist of suffering the presence of the halfling and dodging the she-elf. Not for anything in particular; he is not afraid of such an egocentric lady but... He likes to take precautions.

"I wonder if the same thing that happened to Bilbo and me will happen to him and he'll begin to forget, or if it's a hobbit thing," his companion muses thoughtfully. Mairon tries not to roll his eyes. "It would be quite tragic if he did, although I suppose Legolas can remember for him and that's romantic in a way, don't you think?"

No, Mairon doesn't think so. Mairon couldn't care less about the love lives of two morons who fought him and helped to bring his defeat.

"Elrond was very sad the other day thinking about his daughter, you know. So I guess remembering isn't always positive when you live forever. I think she's dead. Her name was Arwen. She decided to be mortal to marry a human king. I guess that's romantic too, giving up your immortality for someone you love."

The halfling sighs with flushed cheeks and dreamy eyes, but Mairon is too busy feeling relief to pay attention to him. So Elrond's daughter is dead; that's good news. He never liked Arwen. Throughout his reign in Mordor, his spies never brought him too much information about the young woman and that concerned him. She was described as quiet, beautiful, in love with Isildur's heir and, most alarming of all, as Galadriel's favorite granddaughter. Mairon had no desire to meet her. The last thing he needed was a new Lúthien coming his way.

"It's been a long time since Gimli and Legolas arrived, however, I wish someone new would come to change the air," the halfling suddenly encourages himself, turning his huge eyes towards him. Mairon shows no sign of paying attention. "You can only learn a certain number of patterns to knit before it becomes repetitive. I almost wish you would start another war; horrible as it is, it would serve as a distraction."

It's something in his tone, a kind of mockery hidden between good manners or a disinterest in his own immortality that tenses Mairon and urges him to respond for the first time in the whole conversation, even though he knows the halfling will take it as a victory.

(He always celebrates when he gets Mairon to speak, even in monosyllables.)

"You should enjoy the peace while you can," he whispers, his fingers brushing a blue-petaled flower that stretches lovingly toward the rays of sunlight streaming through the trees. He has stopped the walk, and the hobbit stands alongside him. "The Final Battle was prophesied and is getting closer every day. Morgoth will return and I will fight by his side, and all of you will fall under our power."

For the first time in the whole conversation he looks the halfling in the eye. They're light and calm, like the sea, but with small golden flecks of wickedness.

Like his Ring.

And then, like a flower opening at dawn, the halfling smiles as if his companion hadn't just threatened the existence of the world and Mairon… Mairon hates him with all his soul.

(Frodo Baggins has an unfairly pretty smile).

**Author's Note:**

> Comments and kudos keep me going <3


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